


Tonight We’ll Leave All Our Lovers Behind

by musiclily88



Series: Wasted Youth// There Wasn't Much to Waste [25]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Drug Use, Light BDSM, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Panic, Panic Attacks, Porn, Psychology, Recreational Drug Use, Sex, Sexual Content, Slapping, not on-screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:56:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you trying to piss him off? Truly? Are you trying to get kicked out?”</p>
<p>“Pretty boys deserve pretty things,” Louis said flippantly, rolling over and finally opening his eyes.</p>
<p>“Fuck off, you think you’re the prettiest person this side of heaven. You’re just trying to make people angry.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight We’ll Leave All Our Lovers Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Darlings, it has been an age. I had some other stories to write, a dissertation to work on, and a LOAD of schoolwork to do. But never fear, I have not abandoned this work of insanity.
> 
> Um...this one's got sex? And do-gooder behavior, and anxiety attacks. And drugs!

“You gave your watch to a poor kid?” Lottie hissed at Louis, yanking his duvet off his face as she did so. Sunlight hit him square in the face and he winced, not just at the contrasting brightness but also at the harshness of her tone.

“Too early in the morning for this,” he ground out, voice croaky.

“That thing is worth twenty-five-thousand quid, Lou, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“That I didn’t want it and someone else could get some use out of it.”

_“A poor kid.”_

“Christ, Lottie, you like Harry almost as much as I do, stop calling him that.”

“Dad is going to murder you.”

“Then don’t tell him.”

“Are you trying to piss him off? Truly? Are you trying to get kicked out?”

“Pretty boys deserve pretty things,” Louis said flippantly, rolling over and finally opening his eyes.

“Fuck off, you think you’re the prettiest person this side of heaven. You’re just trying to make people angry.”

“No. I wasn’t. I was fucking sick of looking at that gigantic thing, hanging off my arm like a burden, okay? I don’t need it, I won’t use it, and your dad just wanted to guilt me into feeling, like, beholden. Like trying to buy my love or something.”

“It’s the only tactic he understands.”

“Yeah, well, I’m done with vying for his approval or his affection. He can do whatever he wants to me.”

Charlotte snorted. “You really think you can survive if he kicks you out? Really? Who would take you in? Who haven’t you alienated lately?”

Louis swallowed down the sick feeling in his gut. “I have a contingency plan.”

“You don’t get your trust fund til you’re twenty-one. And you have no assets to liquidate, nor any useful skills.”

“I have a contingency plan, Lottie.”

“He’ll freeze your cards if he kicks you out, you know.”

“He’s not going to kick me out, it wouldn’t look good. Even if he hates me, he’d still rather keep me under his roof so someone can keep a bit of an eye on me. He and mum care too much about what people think. Plus I’d hope that mum might stick up for me. A bit.”

“Provided she’s actually here, anyway.”

“And it’s not one of the days where they’re screaming at one another about divorce and alimony and that fucking pre-nup,” Louis muttered, rolling his eyes.

She sighed. “How was it with—with your dad?”

“Acrimonious.”

“You with your big words.”

“She took him for more than half.”

_“Took him?”_ Lottie snapped. “Christ, Lou, it’s not like she tricked him or something. I’m fine with a bit of hyperbole but there’s not need to be catty.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“Hate her all you want, but she managed to take care of you, okay? She takes care of all of us.”

“Yeah, by doing my head in and telling me it’s my fault.”

“What do you even mean by that?”

“Do you know how many times she’s barged into my room, screaming something nonsensical at me, then retreated to the bathroom to cry? Only to call me in to comfort her while we both try to ignore the fact that she’s stark raving mad?”

“That never—she did what now?” Lottie asked, grimacing uncomfortably.

“What it says on the tin, sis. Either she’s menopausal or she’s genuinely losing it.”

Lottie’s grimace deepened. “She’s not menopausal. She told me she had a pregnancy scare last month and practically sobbed when she—well, when she found out she wasn’t having more babies.”

“We don’t need any more babies in this godforsaken place,” Louis muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Not when we have you around,” Lottie agreed.

“Oi, shut it.”

“Then stop fucking moping like an opium addict in a Victorian tragedy.”

“What do you recommend? Get the sadness fucked out of me by a strapping young—”

“I really don’t need to know how you spend your free time if you’re going to be so vulgar about it, all right?”

“Since when?” Louis scoffed, flicking his fringe out of his eyes.

She tossed him the V and flicked her own fringe out of her eyes. “Since now. Just sort out your life and stop acting like a little bitch.”

He sneered. “You know, for a feminist, you’re actually kind of derogatory towards women.”

“And for a grown man, you’re cowering like a feral dog who’s about to eat her own young. Act like a bitch, get shit like a bitch.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“Rapier wit, as ever, big brother.”

“I have to go somewhere, anyway.”

“To the pawn shop, perhaps?”

“He didn’t sell the fucking watch, Lottie, lay off it.”

“He could pay for three years at fucking Oxford if he did the smart thing.”

“What’s everyone’s obsession with Oxford all of a sudden, Christ.”

Lottie looked taken aback. “Well, I mean—they have a good linguistics program, innit. And that’s what he wants to do,” she replied, as though he ought to know this intrinsically.

“Everyone’s got their head on straight but me,” Louis muttered, shuffling to his feet and trying to locate his Vans. “And please don’t make some off-colour joke about me being bent.”

“I have more self-respect than that. Go away please.”

He exited the room with a roll of his eyes, quietly slipping out the front door.

***

Louis’ first volunteer shift at the advocacy crisis line involved a lot of instructions that he had difficulty keeping straight. 

He didn’t answer phones his first day out, but he did shadow another volunteer-cum-part-time-employee. Louis, without his typical brash sarcasm, stood wide-eyed and engaged, rapt as he was given instructions. He was shown around and shortly introduced to Mineva, a young woman with bronze-brown skin and a curly fro.

“Nice to get new blood here!” she said after introducing herself and shaking his hand. “So today you’ll be shadowing me, getting a sense of what we do here. And you have to read and memorize some training protocols, but there’s not like a timeframe or something. Anyway we’ll cross that when we come to it. For now, you’re really gonna just, like, watch and listen.” She gave him a bright smile. “Questions?”

“Uh.” He fish-mouth gaped for a moment. “Do you always talk this much?”

She laughed again. “If you’re gonna talk people down from the ledge, you have to be okay with the sound of your own voice.”

“Makes sense. I’ve got four sisters, I kind of have to—ya know, shout to get heard above the din.”

She chuckled again, teeth flashing in the fluorescent lighting. “Familiar with the feminine mystique then. Good man.”

Louis snorted. “If you can call it that. The youngest two are twins. Seven years old. Mostly they’re dervishes.”

“Got two little sisters of my own, so I feel you.” She sat down at a bare-bones desk, with only a computer, a telephone, a corkboard, and a cup of biros. She gestured for Louis to sit next to her. “So do you have any experience with suicidal people? Or runaways, perhaps?”

“Er—yes, but not like, in this context.”

“Okay. No need to disclose or whatever, just didn’t want to shock you right off the bat.”

“Ah.” Louis nodded. “Nah, I’ll be okay.”

“We function as a general crisis line, though if someone has a very specific concern we can transfer them to a different number. We especially do that with callers who are survivors of rape? We talk to them, of course, and act as a sounding board but then we try to get them to talk to people with more localized training. Here, we kind of handle more anxiety and depression, along with giving resources to runaways and domestic abuse survivors.”

Louis nodded again, tapping his temple. “Got it.”

“That comes later in the game, obviously. First off is confidentiality and anonymity. You don’t need to give your name unless you want to, and you can even give a code name if you like. They also don’t need to give their information. We treat everything very seriously but we also need to create a safe space for people to talk. It’s—well it’s the only way some people are ever going to be able to seek help, and we don’t want to scare them away.”

“Right.”

“Thankfully, it seems like you’ve got a good phone voice, so I think you’ll be okay. Anyway, we have tonnes of resources for those who _do_ want to keep seeking help, like finding a shelter or seeking counselling, but we don’t push for that right away. It can be a big first step for people to even call us, you know?”

“Yep, makes sense.”

“We also get calls from a lot of sexual minorities, given the whole…runaway aspect. So that might come up in conversation. Actually, it’s come up in most of my calls from runaways. So that’s another thing to be aware of.”

Louis smiled wryly, not voicing the idea that she was perhaps the first person to meet him and not immediately think _camp pixie flaming gay theatre student._ “Got it. Not a problem, really. At all.”

Mineva bit down on a grin. “Uh huh. Gotcha.”

“No, I didn’t—I mean, yeah, but. Right. Gay here. Me. Gay.” He pinched his lips shut with a small grimace.

“Wow, okay, we’re disclosing all over the place today. Well, cool, that’s good.”

“I like it,” Louis muttered, nodding his head.

“Yes, I’m thrilled for you,” Meneva said, biting her lip over a smile. “Pretend that wasn’t inordinately awkward, yeah. I appreciate it. The reason I address these things is important, actually, in that we don’t want you caught off guard. And we try not to contribute to internalized phobias that callers might already be experiencing.”

“Right, okay.”

“Like—we don’t pass judgment. We’re not therapists, after all, we’re just here for acute crises. We do have resources to pass on to them, of course, and we can give them contact information, stuff like that. We work in tandem with a lot of other agencies. I mean, we’re just a crisis hotline, it’s not like people call us with suspected child abuse cases that we go out an investigate, or anything. But we can put callers in contact with them, or give them the information they want. We’re kind of a catch-all here, I guess you could say. A stop-gap before callers get to where they really need to be.”

“I know. I researched you guys.”

“Ah.” She fiddled with the curly telephone cord. “How’d you hear about us?”

“I was visiting someone in hospital and saw one of those brochures, you know, for the Child Advocacy people? But obviously you need degrees to work in any official capacity, obviously, and I’m still in college. But I wanted to, like, do something. Similar.”

“Gotcha.” She tucked her chin down and curled the cord tightly around her finger. “Not to rip the blinders off, but don’t expect miracles, yeah?”

“Believe me, I don’t expect anything anymore,” he muttered, hoping his words came across with only the barest touch of bitterness.

“Right, then. Buckle in. I hope you’re good at understanding what people are saying when they’re crying.”

“Crying?” Louis gulped, almost comically loudly.

“Oh yeah. Now don’t worry, I’m not going to have you field any calls any time soon. That would be ridiculous.”

“Right. Ridiculous,” he added faintly.

“Got any questions right off the bat? You look nervy.”

“Do—do you get a lot of calls per day?”

“Oh yeah,” she said with a chuckle, before launching into a not-inaccurate depiction of London and its critical masses who were all teetering on the edge of suicide. It was, all in all, a bleak day.

***

Louis wondered what the psychological term was for what he was doing; all he knew is it was sort of like denial but even more disingenuous. He felt even more like he was lying than if he had just, quite simply, flat-out denied something. He supposed he was doing something like sublimation, trying to force his anger and sadness and sense of betrayal into something at least marginally pro-social. In order to convince himself he wasn’t a delusional bastard.

He also thought that maybe he was conflating a lot of psychological terms without actually understanding what they really meant.

His drive home after his intro session at the Crisis Line was long and tedious, his brain fizzing with just how _shitty_ the world was. Sometimes all he could do was congratulate himself for not having drive off a cliff yet.

_Yet._

He had a full-body shiver at the thought, his hands clenching tightly at the wheel. How self-destructive was _too_ destructive? When should he just let go and trust someone else to make the decisions for him? Not that he would ever trust his mother to determine if he should be shunted into a psych hospital.

Christ, should he be in a hospital? Was he there yet? Had he been there? _Would he get there?_

Air caught in his chest uncomfortably, lodging behind his sternum with difficulty. His breathing hitched, and he made a sound like a hiccough, voice gurgling painfully. He blinked rapidly, looking for a place to pull over.

He made a barely-legal turn and stopped abruptly in a half-empty carpark. He set the handbrake and cranked up the air conditioning, trying to gulp breathlessly and calm down his pulse.

He felt, quite literally, like he was dying.

_What were you supposed to do if you were dying?_

His mind was filled with nothing but panic and a humming sound, like the sound of bees. Bees, really, that was ridiculous, he was inside the car. _Christ._ He scrubbed painfully at his temples and his ears, trying to drown out the sound of his own fucking brain.

_Anything but the buzzing and the panic and the overwhelming sound. Anything else, absolutely anything._

Nothing came to mind, because his mind was already filled with terrible sounds, high-pitched and deafening: sounds like his own heartbeat and his own gasping inability to draw a breath, sounds like his knuckles cracking as he clenched his hands into fists, sounds like _why haven’t I died yet?_

_Maybe he couldn’t die._ No, more like, _maybe he wouldn’t die,_ maybe not.

No, scratch that, he was absolutely certain this was how he was going to die, suffocating on absolutely nothing in a stupid carpark in the middle of the fucking afternoon, having done nothing to deserve it, at least not today.

He gaped, feeling spit collect at the corners of his lips as he tried to get a deep-enough breath into his trembling body. He managed half a mouthful of tepid air, his chest feeling full and dense, like it was full of molten, white-hot metal.

If this wasn’t dying, it was the next worst thing, it was the second-to-last horror on the list in his head. It was the buzzing that was eating away at him, the incessant, infuriating noise pounding away at the inside of his skull.

Louis shoved his balled-up fists into his ears, unsure if the sound was external or internal and just what was going on. His vision tunneled out, growing darker and fuzzy. He tried to close his eyes, but they had filled with tears. He let his arm fall, shoulders tense with abject fear. 

Then he abruptly moved to solidly punch himself in the thigh, startling himself away from panic just enough that he could gulp a full breath. He dropped his head onto the steering wheel with a dry spit-soaked sob.

His gut felt wrenched and empty at the same time, and his eyes burned with unshed tears.

All of a sudden he knew what death felt like, and it terrified him.

***

Louis needed pot or maybe molly, and he needed something unattainable like the merest modicum of love and affection. He needed someone to _mother_ him without agenda or buyback, without his mother coming into play at all.

His chest still felt tight, as though he had a permanent block stuck inside him somewhere. He wondered if perhaps it was possible that a scrap of wooden had gotten lodged in his chest, and he thought maybe it had.

***  
He sucked deeply on the blunt Zayn passed him, relishing the fact that he was able to feel his chest fill completely, even if it _was_ with the acrid air accompanied by cannabis.

“You’re a good man, you are,” Louis said lazily, exhaling a quiet puff. They were lying on the floor of his boring-blank bedroom, haphazard. He passed the half a spliff back to Zayn.

“Never thought I’d hear you say _that,_ frankly.”

“Reckon I’m the last person to have told you that, eh? Charming everyone with your smile the way you do. And the cheekbones. And the lashes.”

“Look, mate, I get that you’re in love with me or whatever,” Zayn muttered, sucking in deeply at the blunt between his fingers. “But I don’t feel that way about you, yeah?”

“Liar. Everyone’s in love with me lately. It’s nauseating.”

“Oh, boo-hoo, your life is so fucking difficult and tragic, I feel really horrible for you.” Zayn snorted, handing the pot back over. “Think I’m the only person in your life who doesn’t pity you. Reckon you need more people like that around, honestly.”

Louis was quiet for a few moments. “I’ve got enough of them in my family, actually, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Listen, right, I refuse to feel sorry for you. It’s just not gonna happen.”

“I never asked you to, you know.” Louis bogarted the weed, taking repeated puffs out of pettiness.

“Yeah but you get this, like, fleeting sad-little-boy face, like you’re a cheeky mouse who’s been done wrong or something. It’s kind of infuriating.” Zayn’s eyes fluttered shut, his lashes just dusting the tops if his cheekbones. He was disturbingly beautiful, Louis thought, envy and hatred floating loose in his chest.

“You’re more than welcome to never spend time with me if you find me so abhorrent.”

Zayn shrugged. “It’s not like I hate you.”

“You just love that you don’t love me.”

Zayn opened his eyes again. “Someone needs to counteract that cocky little shit routine.”

“You think I’m cocky?” Louis scoffed. “Guess you can’t see the line between faking it and being it. Shame.”

“Yeah, like you have shame. Or even know the meaning of the word.”

“Big talk, little man. You talk a lot for someone who prides himself on being unsociable and taciturn.”

“Don’t you fucking quote that movie at me, you son of a bitch,” Zayn snapped, face grim. He waved a hand out, demanding that Louis return the weed.

“You have never sounded gayer than now!” Louis laughed loudly, his chin falling down to hit his chest. The blunt was still tight in his fingers.

“Shut up.”

“You picked up on me quoting a _Keira Knightley_ movie.”

_“Shut up.”_ Zayn huffed momentarily. “My ex-girlfriend fucking loved that movie, that’s all.”

“Sure. That’s nice,” Louis responded shortly, indicating he was decidedly done with that conversation. “Does weed make you horny?”

“What else would weed make me?”

“Dunno, sleepy, maybe. Or hungry.” Louis sucked in a deep inhale on the spliff. “Mellow enough not to hate my guts.”

“Don’t hate your guts, Louis, I just hate pretty much everything else.”

“Like life.”

Zayn snorted. “Profound of you, twat, but I guess it’s accurate enough.”

“All right, fine, come here.”

“I’m not moving, bro. Stoned me is even lazier than normal me, and normal me wouldn’t step off the kerb to pick up fifty quid. So.”

“You say that with the luxury of wealth behind you, shitdick.”

“I’m not moving,” he insisted. “Especially not when you’re hogging the pot that _I_ brought over.”

“Christ, fine.” Louis heaved a sigh and stubbed out the last of the blunt before lurching up to straddle Zayn’s lap in a lazy fashion. “Happy?”

“I mean, it’s an evolving state, but sure. Happy enough. Not bothered, anyway.”

“Fucking infuriating, you really gonna make me do all the work?”

“Absolutely. Was your idea.” Zayn folded his arms behind his head and lay back as though he might fall asleep at any moment.

“You’re such a prick. Typical guy,” Louis sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Thought that was what you liked about me,” Zayn replied with a small laugh.

“You talk such shite, I swear.” Louis slapped one hand over Zayn’s mouth, grinding his palm down until Zayn winced. He supposed he didn’t mind taking charge, though, really, because Zayn rarely afforded him that chance. They never stood on even footing, instead grappling uncomfortably with one another like half-enemies. Zayn never gave him the chance to feel invincible or strong or somehow impressive, and he thought he might need that right now, to feel in charge of something. To feel like he had an impact.

Zayn tipped his head to the side, jostling Louis’ hand away so he could speak. “Whatever you say.” He smiled lazily, pupils large against a ring of whiskey-brown iris.

“Red, yellow, green, mate, yeah?” Some small part of Louis marveled that Zayn trusted him, at least a bit, trusted him enough to do some fairly dangerous things, and Louis wondered if that meant something. His brain was of course fuzzy from the THC, so he set that thought aside to be analysed another time.

Zayn shot him a fierce grin. “All right, sure.” He shook his head slightly, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Louis unceremoniously slapped Zayn across the face, earning him an earnest groan. He stood up and removed his jeans before he lowered himself. He straddled Zayn backwards, settling his arse against Zayn’s lower stomach. Then he unzipped the fly of Zayn’s jeans and shoved the waistband down, freeing his semi-hard cock with a ridiculous flourish.

“Good.” He slapped Zayn’s naked thigh abruptly, giving it a pink hue that made Louis smirk. He licked his lips and hummed gently, trailing his fingers along Zayn’s legs. “Very, probably.”

“Get to it, then, bro,” Zayn muttered.

Louis slapped his thigh a second time. “Hush.” He kneaded the flesh of his leg harshly, angrily, enjoying the sound of Zayn gasping behind him. He cupped Zayn’s cock lazily, spitting onto it after giving it a moment’s thought. “For Christ’s sake, you have the manners of a bridge troll.”

Louis pinched the flesh above Zayn’s knee, pressing in hard with a finger and thumb. Zayn keened quietly but didn’t move. Louis ducked down to lathe at the reddening skin. Then he moved sideways to suck down gently on the tip of Zayn’s dick, his own pants-clad arse wide in Zayn’s face.

Zayn kneaded at Louis’ cheeks with both hands, before running one thumb over the lower knobs of Louis’ spine, strange and gentle, yet not countering the anger and panic heavy in Louis’ chest.

_and just where did he get off being so bloody nice?_ Louis thought momentarily before shaking it off.

He took Zayn down past his gag reflex, opening up his throat, trying to remember to breathe. Zayn’s hand scrabbled uselessly against Louis’ lower back, fingertips pressing into the muscles below his spine. Louis slapped abruptly at Zayn’s skinny thigh, waiting patiently to Zayn’s voice to shatter behind him. He slapped again until Zayn coughed out a dry sob.

He immediately planted his palms firmly beside Zayn’s knees, anchoring them down flat as he shoved every thought from his mind but _breathe now._ He pulled off, saliva slick on his lips and on Zayn’s cock, and then he bore back down again, sloppy and rough. He didn’t bother to cover his teeth much, running them along the underside of Zayn’s dick gently, mostly gently.

“Fuck,” Zayn hissed, pressing his thumbs hard into Louis’ spine.

Louis pulled off again, timing it with two quick slaps. “Hold still.”

“Fine, whatever,” Zayn groaned in response, moving his hands away.

“Not joking,” Louis warned him, climbing off his lap to grab lube and condoms.

“Yeah,” he breathed, lying prone with his head thrown back. “I know.”

Louis rolled his eyes for effect, knowing no one could see him. After removing his boxer-briefs, he wet his fingers quickly and settled back down above Zayn’s hips, facing him this time. He sat up in his knees, fisting lazily at his own cock as he eased one finger into himself. He watched Zayn tip his chin down and crack one eye to watch him. Louis bit his lip over a small, intimate smile.

This was nothing. This was fine. This was probably what he needed.

He eased a second finger into himself, leaning forward to plant a jagged kiss along Zayn’s collarbone. His ab muscles tightened precariously, his lips poised above Zayn’s skin.

“Are you—do you need help?” Zayn murmured, squinting his eyes as he tipped his head back.

“No, just gimme a second.” Louis grunted, arching his back, turning away from Zayn’s face. He inserted a third finger and stretched himself carefully, scissoring his fingers wider and wider as Zayn watched, rapt. “How—are you hard enough, yeah? Ready?”

“Yeah, sure, go for it.” Zayn snaked his arm up Louis’ side to brace against his shoulder. “Not too fast.”

“Right. Right,” Louis breathed as he removed his fingers and handed Zayn a condom. “Think you can handle that part, mate?”

Zayn rolled his eyes, ripping the wrapper open with his teeth and sliding it over his cock swiftly. Louis hefted the open lube bottle and slicked Zayn up, shooting him a grin he thought might highlight his sharp cheekbones. 

Setting the bottle aside, he set his hips and shunted backwards, easing himself onto Zayn’s dick carefully. He hissed at the feeling, hissed through the filling of his body and the press of someone else against his nerves and muscles, practically swore as Zayn’s cock swept carelessly against his prostate.

“Okay, hold on,” Louis breathed, shutting his eyes tight as he grew used to the feeling. He breathed through the burn and the tightness and the terrible stretch, and he loved it. And he knew he loved it, and that was all that mattered.

That was _all_ that mattered, at all. Ever.

“You with me?” Zayn whispered, his jaw clenched tightly around the words he spat out.

“One sec.” Louis breathed, and relaxed, and dropped his shoulders. “Good. We’re good.” He simultaneously slapped Zayn’s chest and snapped his own hips backwards, eliciting a loud hiss and a muttered curse.

Louis then raised himself up and forced himself back roughly, placing his flat palms bare on Zayn’s pecs, levering their bodies in tandem.

Only then did Zayn lift his face up to kiss Louis. Louis bit down on his own lip and on Zayn’s lip together, both groaning into the air around them. Zayn dropped a hand between their bodies, pressing against Louis carefully before wrapping his calloused hand around his dick.

Louis grunted despite himself, circling his hips with increasing speed. He detached his lips from Zayn’s and they both swore loudly, chests pressed together and sticky with sweat. Louis pressed his back and hips down, pressing his pelvis into Zayn’s hand and his arse onto Zayn’s cock, feeling raw and split-open.

He reared one hand up to slap Zayn bare across the cheek.

“Fuck, stop fucking slapping me, Christ,” Zayn moaned, and Louis knew he didn’t mean it.

Louis bobbed up and down with increased speed, snapping his hips with ragged desperation. He lost track of time as he traced the cut-off breaths Zayn eked out, metering them against his own uneven breathing and his racing heartbeat.

Zayn’s fist shuddered around him, his pace faltering. His face went dark with concentration and his hips dropped so much that his cock nearly slipped out of Louis. “Hey, ‘m gonna, Lou, hey,” he warned in low tones.

“Yeah, all right, go on, Z, come on.” Louis bounced again, feeling shudders course down his spine as more warmth began to fill the condom inside him, Zayn re-engaging on his cock with a tightening fist.

Zayn seized abruptly, clenching his hand around Louis so tightly that they both came almost simultaneously. Louis’ orgasm ripped through his chest, stemming straight from his stomach, spilling over Zayn’s chest and tight fist. Louis dropped his forehead to Zayn’s collarbone as they caught their breath, going soft and pliant.

Louis smeared one hand through the cooling mess on Zayn’s taut abs, snorting quietly. “I’ll get a flannel,” he offered belatedly, kneeling up so that Zayn slipped out of him.

“Cheers.” Zayn stretched his arms high above his head, yawning.

Louis cleaned off his own legs and grabbed a fresh flannel for Zayn, tossing it to him before stepping into his discarded boxer-briefs. Dragging his bookbag closer to where Zayn was still lying prone, he opened an inner compartment and removed a glass piece.

“I thought you said that was cashed,” Zayn murmured, watching him with half-closed eyes.

“It was. Remembered I was holding more.”

“Christ, I smoke you out and get you laid, and here you’re keeping back from me?”

“Unintentional.” Louis packed a bowl, no longer feeling languid. He inhaled deeply and eyed Zayn until he sat up, crossing his legs against the soft carpeting.

They smoked again in near-silence, practically companionable in the post-coital and smoke-filled haze. Zayn shivered when Louis opened the window to let the air clear, and he frowned as he put on his pants. “Shit I’m excited for summer. It’s so bloody freezing outside. Can’t stand London.”

“You’ll miss it when you’re gone.”

“No,” Zayn snapped. “I won’t.”

“Fine, geeze. If you know yourself so well.”

“Well, yeah. I do.”

Louis got the sense that the conversation was very, very far from over.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I love your comments, feedback, criticism, squealing, awkward panting, etc.!
> 
> tumblr: musiclily


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